The Countdown
by Cordelia Rose
Summary: "Merlin gives himself a countdown. From ten to zero. He'll jump at zero; jump or just fall forward. It doesn't make a difference either way." Oneshot. Angst. Bromance.


_So, I've had this idea for about two weeks, and then I read a fic called "Falling" by KnittedSweater, which inspired me to actually write this, rather than just thinking about it. If you haven't, I recommend you go read it, it's amazing. This is un-beta'd, so if there are any mistakes please tell me._

Merlin gives himself a countdown. From ten to zero. He'll jump at zero; jump or just fall forward. It doesn't make a difference either way.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Merlin hears the distant beat of galloping horses but ignores it.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

The sound is closer, but Merlin closes his eyes, opens his arms and embraces the wind.

Three.

Two.

One.

The sun causes a red glow behind his eyelids as he faces the sky, teetering on the edge of forever.

Zero.

Merlin lets himself fall forward.

As he does, he thinks he hears someone call his name. But quickly he forgets that as he accelerates towards the ground, and then collides head-on with a cracking THUD.

* * *

"Sire!" Leon bursts into the hall. The king looks up, mildly surprised when a flustered Gwaine runs in behind him.

He stands immediately, and grabs his sword off the table. "What's wrong?"

"It's Merlin, sire."

Normally those words would make Arthur relax; his manservant manages to get himself into an idiotic amount of trouble, but it's never too serious. But this time – there is an urgent edge to Leon's voice and a note of hysteria.

"What about him?" Arthur asks, forgetting about the paperwork and shrugging his jacket on.

"He fell off the tallest tower in the castle, sire."

The words hurt like a physical blow and Arthur staggers back a few steps. No one could have survived the fall from the tallest tower; it's over seventy feet high.

"Who pushed him?" Arthur questions, promising himself that he'll make them pay, whoever they are.

"Nobody pushed him, sire."

"He fell?" Arthur deliberately misunderstands, not wanting what he suspects to be true.

"He _jumped_, sire."

* * *

_It's a miracle_, Arthur thinks as he stands near to the body of his servant. _He's alive._

Arthur doesn't want to get any closer: he's a few feet away but can't bring himself to go any closer. From here he can see the steady rise and fall of Merlin's chest, and also the vividly bright crimson of his blood that's everywhere, but he doesn't want to go any closer.

Because he's fucking furious, and he knows that if he goes any closer, he might actually kill him for real this time.

* * *

'Why did you do it?' is the question on everyone's lips.

He just shrugs; or doesn't do a thing, doesn't utter a sound, make any move or betray anything with his face. He acts like he doesn't have a clue; doesn't know why he wanted to kill himself.

But it's fucking lies.

They're not asking the right questions. They sound like a group of parrots, all repeating each other, but none of them ask what he really wants to answer.

Not even Gwaine, who would usually have no qualms about speaking of such a thing.

Because what he really wants to hear is: "Why are you such an awful person?"

Because then maybe he'd be able to answer them honestly.

* * *

"Why did you do it?"

It's that question again; why does nobody understand that he won't answer it?

"Fine then," Arthur said. "Let me rephrase that. Why did you commit such a selfish act?"

Merlin lifts his head up and meets the gaze of his questioner for the first time in days. Finally they're getting somewhere.

"Why did you do something so awful? You hurt everyone who loves you, Merlin! It was such a selfish thing to do and -" Arthur pauses, hand raised as though to strike his friend. Then it drops, and Arthur drops. Drops onto the corner of the bed, defeated. "It's not you. So why?"

Merlin is about to answer him, but he can't. How is he meant to explain that he'd killed so many people, ruined so many lives, caused so much heartbreak, torn so many families apart, to a man that would see him dead if he did.

But dead is his aim. Merlin wants death. He'd welcome it like an old friend with open arms ready to embrace if he could.

So he takes a deep breath and he explains everything.

Everything that has ever happened to him to do with magic, good or bad. He doesn't take his eyes off Arthur as he does.

And Arthur's gaze never leaves his.

Then comes the all-important word: "What?"

"Don't make me repeat all that Arthur," Merlin whispers. He curls up into himself and Arthur recognizes the posture of a broken man.

But the only word Arthur can find is, "How?"

Merlin suddenly unfurls and snaps his head back up to meet Arthur's eyes.

"How what?" he snaps with a sudden ferocity. His eyes sparkle with a vicious authority as he pulls himself to a crouching position.

"How did I fool everyone? How am I capable of it? How what, Arthur?"

A tear streams down Merlin's cheek but he doesn't seem to notice. More follow within milliseconds but Merlin makes no move to swipe them away. "How what?" He's whispering now; his frame shakes and suddenly he's sobbing, collapsing on the bed in a heap of red and blue.

Arthur hesitates before moving forward, not sure if his actions will do anything, not sure if his words will mean anything.

He doesn't plan the speech that comes next; it just seems to flow out naturally. "You're not a monster, Merlin, and I don't hate you. I know how it feels to be guilty, and to have killed so many people, and to feel outcast because of who you are naturally.

"I understand."

Merlin sniffs once, and straightens up. Two pairs of blue eyes meet each other; two pairs of blue eyes accept each other.

"You are special, Merlin," Arthur whispers. "Not just to me, but to Guinevere, and to Gwaine, and to Gaius, and to this world.

"So, please...just hang in there."

_**Reviews? Was it awful? Brilliant? Somewhere in between?**_


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